


Talent

by DaughterTime



Series: Talent [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterTime/pseuds/DaughterTime
Summary: Aquene is a peaceful country. They have no wars, little civil unrest and are very independent. However, strange things happen. Children between the ages of 12 and 17 vanish. They disappear at odd times, Snatched away from homes and families and are rarely seen again. They're taken to a mountain on the outskirts and are trained to fight in an unknown war. Talents they alone posses are their weapons and these children are the soldiers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok guys, so this is gonna be my first book. It's still a major work in progress and any feedback that anyone can give me is greatly appreciated.

The snow came early this year. It fell in thick, fat flakes that descended in slow, lazy circles. The soft flakes lounged on trees and bushes and clung to the fringes of the gravel paths and the carriage trails. Clouds hung thick and heavy across the sky, blotting out the sun and coating the world in a layer of dull, drowsy gray. 

The classroom was bright in comparison to the stillness outside the window. The lights were on, casting shadows across the chairs that students had scattered in their rush to leave. 

The teacher quickly shuffled his papers together before erasing his small, neat script scrawled across the blackboard. Turning back to the room, he noticed the scattered, broken pencils and strewn papers of his students. His gaze drifted towards the back where his final student remained, organizing her bag. The student he worried about the most. 

She had perfect grades, always listened and paid attention to his lessons. She consistently turned in her work and it was always, without fail, neat and efficient. 

She also never answered or asked questions in class, nor did she come and ask him any afterwards. She never came in with anyone. She never left with anyone. She talked to no one. 

She was alone. She was always alone. The last time he, her teacher, heard her say anything was on the first day of class, when she was telling him her name. 

The young girl stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she looked up at him. He smiled hesitantly and nodded to her, "Be safe going home, Skyla. You have a nice night."

She didn't smile back. There was only a blank, guarded expression written across her face and hidden within her dark eyes. With a nod, she turned, the skirt of her uniform swishing as she exited. 

Her teacher sighed under his breath and shook his head, turning back to packing his things.

"You would think she was hiding from the world," he muttered.

 

Skyla placed her dark blue uniform jacket atop her shoulder bag and walked out of the tan school building, indifferent to the crystals descending around her. She didn't mind the feel of the snow drifting onto her head and onto her arms as she exited the only school in town and began walking home. Around her, the town was quiet as her classmates made their way home, looking forward to a warm dinner and tea. It was late, the sun almost down behind the clouds, as was usual during the winter. Classes began late to help combat the cold, and ended before the sun went down. 

Skyla looked down at her feet, watching as her dress shoes disrupted the cool crispness layered across the ground and snowflakes patterned her blue skirt. 

There was a sudden crunching of footsteps behind her causing her to stop and listen. A branch abruptly rustled in the tree beside her, sending a large pile of snow crashing to the ground behind her. 

Someone was following her. Just like Cruz had been. She pivoted on her foot and looked behind her. No one. She was being paranoid, just as her mother had told Cruz. Skyla turned and continued walking home.

Skyla opened the door, reset the alarm bell on the front door, and walked through the empty living room towards the kitchen. Her home had two floors. The front door opened into the living room and an adjoining kitchen, with a hallway leading towards two spare rooms and the only bathroom. Running parallel to the hallway was a stairwell leading upstairs, towards Skyla’s room, her parent’s room and a closet. 

“Skyla!” Mother shrieked from upstairs. “Check your belle!” Skyla sighed before curling her fingers and tapping the simple black bracelet wrapped around her wrist. Immediately, a high-pitched shrill emanated from it. 

The whole purpose of the belles was to alert surrounding bystanders that someone was in trouble. The concept was originally introduced 8 years ago when there was an increase in child kidnappings. The belle was activated by the wearer tapping any part of the bracelet. The heat from their finger and the pressure applied to it was what activated the circuits to release a high pitched shrill. 

“Shut it up!” Mother yelled again and Skyla obeyed, tapping the bracelet belle and silencing it once more.  
Skyla cast a quick glance at the bracelet, before grabbing an orange from the silver bowl on the kitchen table and heading upstairs towards her bedroom to put away her things. 

Her bedroom was plain. There was her closet, and a bedside table that sat beside her twin sized bed. There was also a desk that sat adjacent to her bed that was plain, pale wood. A window sat on the wall opposite to her closet, in between her bed and the desk, the frame made of dark wood and closed by gray curtains. Hardwood floors met stark white walls and there was nothing personal in the entire space. Skyla placed her bag in the corner before pulling it open and beginning to unpack, neatly placing all of her things in the desk drawers and placing her homework on the table.

Skyla was called to the top of the stairs shortly after unpacking her bag and finishing her orange. 

“Skyla!” He barked, “Begin on dinner. It is already labeled in the kitchen.” 

Clark Grim was a large, intimidating man. He had a square face, strong jaw with hard dark eyes and receding, stubbly hair. He was broad shouldered and his chest was one giant mass of muscle, which made sense, considering the fact that he was both a hunter and the local blacksmith. 

Skyla met his gaze for a moment, nodded at him and began to descend the stairs. 

“Skyla!” He barked and she closed her eyes, hiding her flinch. She opened them and stood up straight, nodding at him again and looking him in the eye. 

“Yes, sir,” she spoke clearly, her muscles frozen, waiting for his response. 

He regarded her silently before turning away without a word, the only dismissal she would receive, and she continued down the stairs. 

In the kitchen, day old bread and pasta sat on the stove. Nodding to herself, she proceeded to soften and warm the bread and prepare the pasta. She spun around, dancing about the kitchen for knives, pots, water and dishes and the pasta was boiling in minutes. Seconds seem to pass before Mother walked in and began yelling at her almost immediately. 

Her mother, Marie Grim, was short and lithe, all sharp angles; a slight woman who had attracted Clark to her through her rather aggressive and stubborn behavior. Her hair was long, black, and always pulled behind her head in a tight bun. The number of times Skyla had seen her mother with her hair down were few and far between. Marie’s eyes were dark, small and piercing, surrounded by the shadows of sleepless nights and the wrinkles of impending old age. Skyla had watched even Father submit before the glare in those eyes. 

“Skyla!” The old woman screeched. “You're moving too slowly! Dinner should've been done 10 minutes ago!” 

Skyla turned to explain that dinner was finished when a hand lashed out and her head snapped to the side with a crack. Her cheek stung. 

Mother stepped around her and immediately began serving the food Skyla had just finished preparing. Skyla stood there with her eyes closed, willing away the impending headache. In her mind, she thought about snapping at her mother, reminding her that Skyla hadn’t even been home 10 minutes ago. Instead, she held her tongue; the reminder of her previous experiences preventing her from uttering a sound. After a few seconds, Skyla opened her eyes and took her seat at the dining table. She raised her eyes slightly before bowing her head, catching a glimpse of her father's disappointed gaze. Mother then shoved a bowl of food into Skyla’s hands and banished her upstairs. She wasn't allowed downstairs for the rest of the night.

The following morning, Mother screamed at her for being lazy and selfish for not doing the dishes after dinner and completing the rest of her chores. Instead of responding and fighting back, Skyla simply nodded obediently and left for school. The constant screaming was nothing out of the ordinary.


	2. Chapter 2

Today, Skyla didn't have school. Classes were held for 6 days, with one day off, before the new week began. Skyla’s day was spent cleaning her already clean house in an attempt to please her parents.

While a small part of her knew it was pointless, another part of her still yearned to at least try and please them. So, while her classmates were outside socializing and playing, she was inside, cleaning the dishes and scrubbing the fireplace. Sweeping all the floors and dusting off their barren mantel. Making her already made bed and making her parents bed as well, collecting all the laundry and finishing it quickly and efficiently. She was carrying a box to the back storage room when her father stormed into the house in a flurry of stomping boots and slamming doors.

In a rare moment of being caught off guard by his sudden appearance, the box slipped out of Skyla’s hands and crashed to the ground, spilling its contents everywhere. She dropped to her knees immediately, hastily collecting the items and stacking them within her hands. Father stopped where he stood and she felt his stony gaze fall heavily upon her. Skyla froze, and stared at the spilled contents for a moment before slowly getting to her feet and lifting her head to look at him. His gaze filled with anger.

“Weakling,” he snarled at her before shoving her aside, causing her to tumble over the box to the floor and cut her leg.

He paused, giving her a fast scrutinizing graze before she quickly rolled back to her knees and began picking up the spilled contents of the box. “Disgrace,” was the last word he sneered before he disappeared down the hall into the study, and though he had said them before, the words still stung like a blow to her chest.

Skyla sat for a moment, collecting herself and shoving her emotions away before allowing her face to fall blank once again. She finished repacking the box, stood and carried it into the storage room, pausing inside to take a deep, shuddering breath.

The storage room was lit only by the light from the hall and was crowded full of boxes. The room had always been a comfort, a refuge, a place that her parents could not reach and Cruz could not follow. Her size allowed her to slip among the boxes towards the back corner, where she had cleared a small cubby for her to hide in. Her parents always believed the space was too crowded for her to hide and Cruz couldn't slip between the boxes like she could.

After setting down the box she held, her hand slowly drifted up towards her cheek, where a scar like fractured glass resided along her cheek. It began at the back of her cheekbone, by her ear, and splintered forward, up, and down her face, stopping near the bottom of her jaw and wrapping around the corner of her eye in thin, white splintered lines.

Her mind flashed back to her argument with Cruz, the phantom of the pain he had caused her flashing through her face. Cruz had called her weak then too. Declared that she was weak and defenseless and he had set about proving it. She finally proved him wrong, and it was the last time she ever saw him. She had proven to him that she could protect herself and she never saw her brother agai.

Skyla dropped her hand from her cheek and clenched her fist. She had proven Cruz wrong. Now, she just had to prove it to her parents. Anger flared and spread like a wildfire through her chest before she smothered it. Through the years, she learned to hide her emotions. By hiding them, shielding them, she kept herself safe. Relaxing her hand and forcing the anger away, she took a deep breathe. Ignoring her still bleeding leg, Skyla spun around and strode from the room with a hint of confidence. She spent the rest of her day without another word to her Father.

The following morning, when she awoke, she found her leg completely bandaged.

 

“Alright, everyone! You are dismissed! Remember, we don't come back for another four weeks,” Skyla’s teacher announced and all of her classmates launched themselves out of their seats eagerly. Skyla stood slowly, packing her things away before making for the exit. Her leg still hurt from her fall last week, the bruise a living thing under the cut on her upper calf.

“Have a good break, Skyla,” her teacher called, drawing her from her thoughts. She turned her dark eyes to him and she watched his mouth twitch with unease. She nodded to him and left wordlessly. Just like always.

Snow coated the ground. It was still firm from last night's cold. Her classmates were gathered outside, all chatting about how they would spend their cold month off. Few claimed that they would be visiting the capital while most stated they would just visit neighboring towns and villages. All of them chatted with one another in loud excited voices. Most of them, anyway.

A fight seemed to be brewing up again as Skyla walked past. One of the more aggressive girls, her hair and eyes caramel in color, was leaning over another girl; this one with dark hair and brilliant green eyes in contrast. This always happened: her classmates ruthlessly picking on each other. And Skyla did what she has always done: kept walking, even as anger towards herself and caramel-haired girl flared to life in her chest. Skyla continued walking past with hardly another glance. She always left, could never bring herself to defend whomever was being picked on, and Skyla hated herself for it. Her only noticeable reaction towards her anger was the slight tightening of her grip on her shoulder strap. But only her shadows noticed that.

Skyla kept walking, winding her way back home, the fight replaying on loop in her mind. It fueled the anger, kept it alive and simmering underneath her chest.

“Skyla!”

Her head shot up, her gaze snapping towards her neighbor as the old woman began fretting. Skyla had never learned her name, but the old woman’s hair was gray and wild, curling and winding from her head, her electric blue eyes wild and frantic as she hissed a warning at Skyla.

“It's not safe, get inside! Quickly! Otherwise you'll be Snatched!” The neighbors’ eyes flitted about nervously across the street before she glanced at Skyla pleadingly one last time and shut the door. The air went quiet. Thomlin was small and secluded town near the southern border of the country of Aquene. That made them favored targets and easy pickings for the Ruk, a group that would Snatch children between the ages of eleven and eighteen. The Ruk were the reason why belles were invented, their snatchings increasing and anyone Snatched was never heard from again. Four had been taken since the beginning of the year, only twelve moons ago. Cruz among them.

The street was now empty of everyone but her; everyone shut tightly in their homes, too afraid of whispered murmurings and ghost stories.

Skyla stared at the closed door of her neighbor before raising her hand to look down at the black belle adorning her wrist. The belle’s had been designed with the intent that if one of the Ruk came to Snatch you, you could ring the Belle and someone could come and save you. So far, the Belle had saved 6 kids in the past 5 years. And it only saved them once. A few days later, the children went missing anyway.

Skyla sighed bitterly before continuing home, continuing at the same pace she had been going before her neighbor had interrupted her thoughts. Skyla knew that if she was Snatched, not even her belle could stop it. Nothing would. Irritation at her townspeople's fear flowed through her, only adding to her anger and her pace quickened, fueled by disgust. How could they be so afraid of the Ruk? If a child was going to be taken, then taken they would be. And yet.  
Her footsteps faltered as the two words filtered through her mind. And yet. And yet she was too afraid to even confront her own parents. Self-loathing quickened her return home.

Skyla walked in her front door and turned on her belle without prompting, before hearing her mother shout at her to turn it off. After obeying the order, she ran upstairs, throwing her bag on her bed before quickly stomping back downstairs to begin preparing what was left of the dinner on the stove. All she could see was the fight breaking out and her doing nothing. All she could hear was her neighbor’s door slamming shut. All she could feel was the cold. Emotions made her motions forced and aggressive. Yet again, her father didn't say a word to her as she completed everything. He remained silent as she did everything shy of slamming the food down on the table. Her mother began to yell at her again before Father placed a hand on Mother's small shoulder.

“Leave her be, Marie. This time will be hard on us all,” Skyla suppressed the urge to scowl at the statement. Next week was Cruz’s life-date, the date of his birth. His was in late fall, early winter, Skyla’s in late winter. Skyla watched her mother’s face freeze at the indication.

Mother squinted at Father before sighing in defeat and returning to her meal. He wasn't wrong. Mid winter was always the worst time for survival, and now that they were without Cruz to help with income, the three of them would most likely struggle this year.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they ate in complete silence. When they finished, her parents retired, as the sun had set. Skyla ran the dishes, putting them away and cleaning up after them. Distracting herself through chores was the best way to handle her sudden anger. At what, she couldn't say any more. Herself. Maybe the Snatchings. Or her classmates, her parents, her brother.

When she finished, she was calm again. Then she herself retired. Skyla sighed as she switched on the light in her room, leaning against the door with her eyes closed. She took another deep breath before she stepped forward and opened her eyes. And that was when everything stopped.

He was standing in front of the open window, the curtains billowing around him in the night breeze. His hair was a wild mess from the wind and the action of climbing in her second story bedroom window. His eyes were a faded light green, his hand unconsciously twitched by his side. His clothes were warm and dark, varying and overlapping shades of grays and blacks and blues, his pants dusted with snow.

Skyla sighed and took a step back, leaning against the door. She smiled slightly and opened her eyes again.

“Guess it's my turn, huh?”

He shrugged, a shy smile on his face. A small part of her liked it. She walked forward and sat on her bed and was surprisingly calm when a second boy hesitantly came out of her closet and a third one slowly crawled out from under her bed.

The boy Skyla mentally named Closest Creeper had dark skin covered in red markings, with long, black hair that was bound back into a low ponytail. He was barefoot, despite the cold, and only wore a pair of tan slacks. Bed Bug immediately joined Window Boy as Skyla took in his shaggy brown hair and kiddish features.

“Aren't you going to sound your belle?” Closet Creeper asked, surprise and suspicion clear in his eyes. His posture was relaxed, yet poised, seemingly ready for a fight any moment. Skyla shrugged.

“No point. By the time my parents wake up, you will have shut it off, and I'll be unconscious and hauled out of here anyways. The belles are pointless and stupid. We only have them to relish in a false semblance of security,” Skyla found herself surprised by her own uncharacteristically blunt statement. The boys were surprised too. Window Boy smirked while his companions seemed taken aback by her plainly-spoken reply on the matter.

“You'll be seen as a traitor,” the Window Boy stated. She shrugged unconcerned.

“I'm not going to be coming back anyway. What's the point of being seen as a traitor when I'll never been seen in Thomlin again? Let's just go,” He smiled and again, she found herself enjoying the sight.

“Anything in specific that you want to bring with you? You can bring small items, trinkets really. We aren't so cruel that we’ll make you leave everything behind.

Skyla stood and walked over to the desk. She grabbed a small, worn stone that was bright purple in color. The smooth surface was a comfort in her palm, a reminder of the way her family used to be and friends she used to have. Her mother had told her once that the stone was an Amethyst, the stone of her birth moon and the stone of the ancient queens.

“Just this,” she replied, holding it tight.

Closet creeper reached over and grabbed her old, fraying turquoise dream catcher with an eagle feather dangling from the bottom.

“You'll want this. Bird feathers and turquoise hold defensive properties. So does that amethyst.” She grabbed the dream catcher and nodded before turning back to the three strange boys in her room. She took a deep, calming breath before nodding.

“Let's go.”

Darkness seeped into her mind as someone's fingers brushed her temples. She was out like a light.


End file.
